


The Cursed

by Tenthflesh



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2693240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenthflesh/pseuds/Tenthflesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mystery is afoot in the shady city of Gotham, where criminal acts are an everyday occurrence. Only the Batman can unravel this deadly web.<br/>Robin...kidnapped! A household...ruined! Repeated...ellipses!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Misfortune Meets Its Match

Bruce walks stiffly downstairs, gritting his teeth as all of last night’s bruises make themselves felt. He is led along by his nose, following a heavenly aroma to its source in the kitchen. He grunts upon arrival. “Hardly the correct nourishment for a crimefighter.”

Alfred smiles warmly as Bruce, despite his protests, fills his plate with pancakes. “I was hoping they would help convince you to take a day off.”

Bruce stuffs his face and turns away, muttering through his food with remarkable clarity: “Justice never sleeps.”

Behind him a shadow falls over the butler’s face. They head out into one of the living rooms, Bruce in the lead, Alfred trailing silently behind him. Bruce takes a seat in his luxurious leather sofa and grimly starts his meal. Then he pauses to look up at his butler. “Say, Alfred, have you seen Robin today?”

The butler does not answer. Instead he leans forward, locks eyes with his master and starts pouring syrup on the pancakes on the plate. He pours copious amounts from a large pitcher until it is empty but for a few drops, leaving the dish awash and the table moist. Bruce grabs him by the lapels and leans toward his face, eyes like steel. “I will bury you.”

The butler slowly pulls himself out of his master’s grasp, lips tugging ever so slightly upwards in a wry smirk. They stare each other down a moment, but eventually the butler speaks. “I believe the young master has spent his morning sequestered in his room. He has only come out for the occasional glass of water." He sighs. "More importantly, we must talk of your emotional state. Following master Dent’s unfortunate demise.”

Bruce clenches his fists and glares at his pancakes. “I should have saved him, Alfred.”

“Nonsense. It was an accident. There was nothing you could have done.”

The master of the house shakes his head. “I should have seen it coming. I was right there, helpless to do anything but watch. I should have started running towards him before there was any sign of a possible accident. I should have…”

“Time is up.” The butler taps his watch at his master’s inquiring gaze.

Bruce devours his soggy pancakes thoughtfully. “Sequestered in his room, eh? I suppose that is not so unusual for…a boy…of his age.” He slurps up the last of the syrup and jabs at his lips with a napkin. “Say, Alfred, how old is Robin exactly?”

The butler clasps his hands behind his back. “I am afraid the exact number escapes me. As the years go by I find it increasingly difficult to keep count of them.”

Bruce drums his fingers on the table. “I shall go speak with him.”

He strides off towards his young ward’s room, trailed by his faithful butler. He bursts dramatically through the door and stares sternly at the scene in front of him. There are massive lips protruding out of a wall. Robin has his face pressed against them, frozen in surprise at the sudden entrance of the lord of the manor. No words are spoken. “Good morning, old chum,” Bruce addresses his ward as he sits down and turns on the television, which is currently covering Harvey Dent’s tragic Segway accident. Alfred stays in the doorway.

Robin coughs. “Uh, Bruce? Would you mind watching that somewhere else?”

Bruce shows no expression. “I am here to see you, Robin.”

“But you’re just watching TV.”

Bruce crosses his arms thoughtfully. “If I gave you too much attention it might go to your head.”

Robin goes quiet. His eyes dart from the back of Bruce’s head to the dark, knowing eyes of the butler. He squirms a long while before breaking. He pretends to cough and sneaks a lick at the lips. Bruce stiffens in his seat. There can be no secrets in this room, because of all the mirrors. “Explain those lips to me, Robin,” he mutters darkly.

Robin jumps back, pressing his whole trembling body against the lips. “I-I-I don’t really know. They were just there this morning.”

Bruce breathes in audibly. “And why would you lick them?”

Robin looks down in despair. “They’re so dry, Bruce. So chapped. I can’t just stand idly by!”

Bruce turns up the volume on the television before turning to look at his ward. “Very well. Abandon me. Like all the others. Don’t worry. I’m used to being alone.”

He turns away and strides out. Alfred smirks at Robin’s teary eyes, swiveling between the lips and Bruce, before following his master.

Back in his luxurious leather sofa, Bruce sighs. “Perhaps I was too hard on the boy.”

He jerks in his seat as Alfred’s cold hands massage his shoulders. “Perhaps you were.”

Bruce grabs one of the butler’s hands and squeezes firmly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The butler grins. “Absolutely nothing, master Bruce. But do go easy on me. I have grown weak. I must feed soon.”

Bruce lets him go with a sigh. “I haven’t forgotten, Alfred. I’ve prepared a visit to Arkham.”

The butler growls, but keeps massaging. “With all due respect, sir, I have told you how I feel about that place. The medicine bothers me greatly.”

“Don’t worry, Alfred. I arranged for the patients to be given nothing but placebos.”

The butler smiles. “You are too kind, Master Bruce.”

Bruce jumps to his feet and runs off, Alfred dutifully following, albeit at a slower pace. “I must go see him,” Bruce shouts over his shoulder. “I overreacted. Hopefully Robin will forgive me.”

When Alfred finally catches up, the master is alone inside the boy’s room, looking deeply puzzled. “Robin has gone missing,” he explains.

The butler smiles. “Last I saw he was licking the lips.”

Bruce inspects them closely before turning to look at Alfred. “Were they always this red?”

“I cannot say. But now they seem to have caught fire.”

Bruce turns around to see the lips vanish in a blaze of hellish fire. He kneels and dips a finger into the steaming hot ashes, inspecting them without any sign of discomfort. He shares a smile with his butler. “A mystery is afoot.”


	2. Robber of Souls

Bruce comes to in an instant, his hand whipping out to grab his assailant. It takes a few instants for his bleary eyes to take in the scene before him. He has captured Alfred’s throat. The old man stares dispassionately down at him, a pendulum dangling from one hand. Bruce grunts, his lifelong hatred of hypnotists welling up inside him. “What are you doing, Alfred?” 

“I’m motivating you to fight crime, sir.” 

He sighs, but does not let go of his butler’s throat. “How long have you been doing this?” 

“Ever since your parents died, sir.”

“Jesus, Alfred.” The little Batman on the cross squawks with displeasure, prompting Bruce to clench his eyes shut. 

”Don’t you… like it, sir? Are you not happy?” 

Bruce stares vacantly into the old man’s eyes as he finally lets go of his throat.

“Alfred, I am constantly miserable. People die every other day here and I feel guilty each time.” 

Alfred coughs. “Well.” The birds chirp outside and the old man’s alight on something in the garden outside. “Ah. I believe someone is here to see you.”

Bruce groggily gets up. “Who?” He looks out the window and gasps. Within an instant he is running outside in nothing but his briefs. “Harvey!” He hugs his old friend tight before pulling back, blubbering. “But you’re…you’re…” He clenches his eyes shut, overcome by the memory of that fateful day and the moped accident.

“Yeah,” says Harvey. “But I’m back now.”

“Amazing. But who,” Bruce says as he notices the woman beside Harvey, “is that?”

“This is my new girlfriend,” Harvey says with a smile before turning and planting a kiss on the woman’s lips. She is split neatly in two, one half a fetching young woman, the other a desiccated corpse. They make quite the couple. “Her name is Hel,” explains Harvey. “She allowed me to come back to the land of the living.”

“I didn’t know you were pagan,” Bruce blurts out.

Harvey’s eyes scrunch up and his voice drops. “Neither did I.”

 

Robin comes to in a thick darkness. He can hear nothing but his own breathing, but he can see the faint outline of a man. “Wh-where am I? Who’s there?”

“Shh,” the man answers with a soft superwhisper. “I’m your new owner. Relax.”

Robin snorts. “Do you know who I am? Do you know what sort of friends I have? You’re gonna be sorry.”

“No, Robin. I have planned this well. Batman will not be coming for you.”

Robin yelps. “What do you want with me?”

There is a supersigh in the darkness. “I always wanted…a son.”

 

Batman is prancing around a dark alleyway when all of a sudden a figure comes out of the darkness. “Deathstroke the Terminator! We meet again!” Another figure comes out of the darkness and drapes itself over the first one. Batman reels. “What?”

Robin smirks. ”We’re lovers.”

”Jesus,” Batman mutters. The little Batman dangling around his neck squawks with displeasure. “How old are you?” 

Robin smirks. “Legal, at least.”

“Well, alright then.” 

Robin smirks, then slowly his mouth creaks downward, forming a frown. “Alright? It’s not alright! You’re supposed to throw a fit!”

Batman reaches for a Batarang. “But you just said...” 

“I know what I said! I’m insecure. And immature.” 

Batman changes his mind and reaches for a smoke pellet. “You really are. I’m better off without you.” 

“Bruce, you bastard.” The smoke pellet hits the ground and the Batman is off. “Give me back my childhood! Give me back my life!” 

As soon as the Caped Crusader has disappeared into the darkness, Deathstroke turns to his companion and chuckles. “Good work...Robon.” Robin’s face falls open, revealing all sorts of circuitry!

“Devious,” Robin mutters under his breath, defeated. He looks up to see something incredible. “Woah! Is that...”

“The bottled city of Kandor, yes. I’ve been trying to restore it to its original size for a long time now.”

“How’s it going?”

“I’ve pretty much given up. Now I just try to make them comfortable and keep their minds off their predicament.”

“Oh.” Robin looks further up to see something incredible. “Oh! Superman! You’re…!”

“Yes, son.” Superman stands naked right in front of the bottled city of Kandor. “Imagine what it must look like to them.”

Robin does imagine, and shudders.


	3. Love

“I would like to take a bath.” The Riddler does not answer. He stares grimly ahead, completely still. Selina prods his shoulder. “I would like to take a bath,” she reiterates.

“What is the root of all joy and sorrow?” There is a short silence. “You don't always fulfill it.”

Selina slowly turns the faucet on in attempt to inspire movement. The Riddler just sits there. “I live here,” he declares, as the cold water creeps ever upward, soaking his pants, then his bandages. Suddenly he is the one bathing, and common decency forces the Catwoman to retreat. The Riddler sits still in impassive triumph.

 

Bruce confronts his gardener in the garden. He stares at the back of her head with his eyes. He stares a long while before she gets up out of the dirt to look back at him, her warm smile illuminated by a warmer sun. 

“I need him back, Ivy.” He coughs to hide the feelings trying to burst out of him. “I'm alone and scared without him.” She does not answer, only goes on smiling. “You ate him but he was important to me.”

There is a flicker, now, of recognition. With a sorrowful air she bends down over the soil, palm outstretched. As if escaping the fires of hell a root forces its way out of the dirt, twisting like a tortured soul in her grasp before settling into the shape of a spear. She smiles once more at him.

“Oh, Jesus,” he says, turning to run as fast as his heavily muscular legs will carry him. In no time whatsoever he is inside the mansion, but so is she. “You work for me, jackass!” he shouts over his shoulder as he runs over plush carpets, rich marble and warm wood. “I hired you on a whim, you know? A goddamn whim.” He is in peak physical condition and does not tire. “I can fire you just as easily and what will you do then? You'll lose everything. I am your employer and I can do that.”

Abruptly the chase comes to an end. The spear enters his back and comes through his gut. He groans loudly, turning around as soon as it is drawn out, and even more loudly as it is reinserted from the other side, pinning his back to the wall. It seems to go on forever, but can in reality not have been more than a few minutes. Finally the spear is retracted for good, and he looks down upon his injuries, trying in vain to staunch the flow. He glares daggers at his gardener, who simply smiles and points at the hole in his gut. He glares daggers at it for a moment, before his eyes soften with wonder. There is something new coming out. With a squelch it falls on the floor. It is a little old man.

Disbelieving, Bruce kneels down on the slick floor. The suit, the hair, the wrinkles. It's all like he remembers. “Alfred? Alfred!” He picks it up and cradles it in his arms with a smile and a tear. His father is back.

 

The winds howl around a man in the sky. It is Superman, floating in the air above the Daily Planet. His supervision takes in the world, his chest puffing with satisfaction and sorrow, all the little horrors and wonders of the world hitting him simultaneously. Eventually he zeroes in on the Kent farm. Lois lies contentedly smoking in bed, the haphazard sheets doing little to preserve her modesty. Outside Robin is setting fire to the fields. Soon he is running away out to the highway, laughing in manic teenage rebellion. Superman wipes away the supertears running down his face with a wistful smile. “They grow up so fast.”

 

The Riddler is still in his bath. Selina stands before him, staring silently at him with accusation in her eyes like the reactionary garbage she is. Beside her stands the landlord, an old man hanging onto him in a typical display of bourgeois degeneracy. Were he not currently a dispassionate man, Edward might be outraged.

“I'm sorry, Selina,” says the landlord, shaking his head. “I'm just too full of light to be mean to anyone right now.”

The Catwoman and the Riddler stare into each other's eyes with great conviction. “I am adored by those who do not know me, I am adorned in gold, and I write history. What am I?” Selina answers by attempting to paw an electronic device into the tub. Only the old man's monkey-like reflexes save Edward's life, and not even on purpose. Bruce smiles broadly. “So full of light, in fact, that I hereby invite you come live with me in the mansion, at a fraction of the price you're paying now.”

“I live here now,” answers the Riddler dispassionately, stroking his bathtub. Bruce puts down the old man and pulls the tub out of the floor. With the help of the monkey-like old man he carries it briskly off.

 

Out on the highway it has gotten dark. Robin is slightly scared and almost cold. Only his training and scarred, scabby soul allow him to keep his cool. Until there is a rustling in the trees. He tears off his shirt and jumps onto the railing, flexing his supple muscles and screaming hard enough to send spittle flying out in a broad arc. “Alright, you sonuvabitch! Come out and fight me like a man!”

The presence partly obeys, stepping out of the treeline to reveal a feminine shape hidden beneath a trench coat and a hat. Robin immediately relaxes a bit, as women have only ever hurt him mentally. “Hello, love,” he ventures.

She takes another soft step forward and looks up with a smile. She is not a woman of substance. Her face is a strange kind of dark, her skin and eyes seeming strangely dulled. Robin plays it cool, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it in the same movement. She stops short at this, gazing intently at the flame. He puts it to his lips and finishes it off in a single, long breath. He throws it away, breathes the smoke out over his revealed musculature. “Can I help you with something?”

“I would offer you a new life.” Her voice is wet. It makes little sense to his mind, but speaks to some other part of him. He is a frightened child, a needy young man and a hungry soul. He steps closer, unknowing. “I am nature ever-changing,” the woman says. I am old, I am kind, and I am hungry.”

She slips out of her trench coat, nothing but naked body beneath. The wet leaves of her flesh part before his wide eyes. Her remaining steps are but a soft rustling, the eyes transfixed on him keeping him rooted to the spot. Soon he is in her embrace and knows nothing. “Drown in me, darling,” the hollow woman murmurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who's excited for Arkham Knight?


End file.
